Second Chances
by midfielder
Summary: Everyone deserves one. story premise: AU. Jate.
1. Thank God it's Monday

**A/N: i honestly don't quite know where i'm going with this. what i know is, i always wanted to explore the doctor side of jack but found the medical stuff too troublesome. but here goes nothing.   
**

-----

1. Thank God it's Monday

Balancing a tall cup of mocha latte on each hand, with folder files clipped under her left arm and a bag slung on her right shoulder, Rose finally manages to push the glass door open and slide into the office.

Her face, which only moments ago glowed from the weekend's rest, scrunches up into a worried frown as she spies the man sprawled on the couch by the receiving area. She shakes her head and purses her lips in disapproval and, she had to admit, mild amusement. For a moment, she seems to consider waking him up with a lecture which begins with an enumeration of healthy sleeping habits and ends with some pointers on getting a life. Her better and kinder judgment makes her decide against it; God knows he deserves a couple of hours to himself.

She proceeds to place her things on the table and go about her morning routine, which comprised of depositing patients' files on his table, updating his schedule, checking his e-mail and the like. When she finishes, he's still asleep. The only apparent development being that he is now snoring. Absently, she worries that the coffee she bought for him might get cold.

Just then, as if by some metaphysical cue, the phone rings and echoes through the almost empty office.

The man jumps slightly at the sound, shoulders visibly shaken at the sudden intrusion.

Scurrying to her desk, she manages to catch the call on the first ring. "Good morning, St. John's Neurospinal Department, how can I help you?"

While trying to keep up with the conversation on the line, she apologizes with a soundless "sorry" to him.

He's already sitting now, leaning forward with his elbows propping him up on his knees. His left hand glides over his face while his other hand waves dismissively at her as if saying it's okay. He heaves a sigh. He entertains but promptly discards the option of lying down again.

It's the start of another week; a dozen or so patients to be operated on, a total of 30 clinic hours to be completed and a ton of paperwork to be inked. And rather than relish the quiet, early hours of a Monday morning, he actually thinks that he should get a head start.

In his last ditch effort to bring himself into full consciousness, he places the heel of his palms against his closed eyes and starts to shake his head from side to side, trying to claw off any remnants of sleep.

He's distracted by a pinch at his back. He removes his hands from his face and eyes a pen rolling towards his feet. Eyes squinting, he glances at Rose who is pointing to his office. In between "ah yes" and "of course", she exaggeratedly mouths the magic words: "Coffee".

Before he takes off in pursuit of Coffee, he responds with a thank you and a smile.

It's warm and honest, the kind she rarely gets from him these days, and it makes her smile back.

-----

It's been about ten to fifteen minutes since he had dashed into his office to get to his coffee. Now, with the cup half empty and the caffeine working on his brain, he's starting to get anxious. He browses through the profiles and histories distractedly. He isn't usually nosy, in fact, he never is. But he is a scientist and he feels the overriding need to validate his hypothesis.

Craning his neck, he takes a curious peek at the lady at the other room.

She's still on the phone. Talking more animatedly now. Someone she knows? No, she's a professional; she doesn't take personal calls.

He lip-reads her saying, "I'll be sure to tell him." Okay, so it's for me. A client, maybe? Can't be; client calls don't usually take that long.

Ergo, someone she knows but not personally and not well enough to drop the formalities here and there. Who could that be?

Of course!

It's someone _I_ know.

-----

"You knew that was her, didn't you?" She says, standing by the door, hands on her waist.

Uh-oh, that is never a good sign.

"Yeah." He says curtly as he pretends to read through a patient's history. Oddly, the file is routed to the Ophthalmology department, specified under Dr. Bailey's. He reads on, anyway.

Jack Austen. Age 6. Had a vertigo episode while playing soccer. Complains of blurry vision and constant headaches.

It was rare that files got misrouted to his office so he just brushed it off, not wanting to get some hapless nurse in trouble. He made a mental note of dropping by Bailey's office to return the file. He figured that the kid just needed prescription glasses; too much TV at too early an age is his initial diagnosis.

"And…" Apparently, he's supposed to say something.

"And what?" However, as always, he is clueless as to what it is. So, he just carries on reading. Easily gets off balance…

Meanwhile, she keeps talking, "…And what's your excuse for this year?"

"Actually, I'm fresh out of those. Hoping to re-stock for the next year, though. So if you have any ideas…" He keeps his head ducked, eyes following the letters, words and sentences on the file, intent on not pursuing the unpleasant direction this conversation has taken.

"…I know I'm in no position to tell you this but you have to talk to her sooner or later…"

It's much like zoning out, with Rose's voice droning in a seemingly far distance. Multi-tasking never was his strong point so between listening to Rose and listening to himself think, he was bound to do one better than the other. He finds himself focusing on a few disjointed words on the file. Vertigo. Blurry vision. Headaches. Off balance.

And somehow, his coffee-addled brain draws a connection among the far-flung dots.

"You have to do something about this, Jack," she says, popping his thought bubble.

"I know, I know. I'm working on it, Rose." She was right; he had to do something.

He had to figure out how to lift this case from Bailey with only a hunch as his leverage.


	2. Jack

**Second Chances**

2. Jack

Get in. Get the case. Get out.

Taking a deep breath, he knocks at the door and twists the knob open.

"Dr. Jack Shephard, as I live and breathe!"

Dr. Bernard Bailey stands up from his desk and meets him halfway to a rather zealous handshake. Then, sitting down again and gesturing for him to take a seat as well, says, "Haven't seen you in these parts in a long while."

"Ah, yes, well…," he trails off, not really feeling the need to explain his relatively newfound antisocial tendencies. He's sure that everyone in the hospital knows by now, even the newbies and the interns. He's already heard his life story told in the third person and seen the exchange of glances and the looks some have been giving him. So any attempt of theirs – and there have been awfully bad ones – at feigned innocence or misguided sensitivity just pisses him off. And he doesn't want to be pissed off anymore.

More importantly, he doesn't want to get pissed off right now.

"So, how was the weekend?"

Ah, he's not taking _that _bait. He purses his lips and drums his fingers on the edge of the table.

"Good, I hope, because it's another grueling week ahead of us."

He sees an opening, and with a good-natured smile, takes it. "Yeah, tell me about it. Speaking of which, I think that grueling week just started for both of us. You might want to take a look at this."

He doesn't wait for a response and instead, hands the other man the folder.

"Always on top of things, I see," he comments as he takes it from him.

"The file somehow got mixed up with mine. I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of browsing through it and found something interesting," he explains, trying to build up his case.

The older man leafs through the file himself, and after a few moments, eyebrows going wide in recognition, says, "Oh, the Austen kid."

But just as he was about to elaborate on his interest in the case, Dr. Bailey promptly flips the file closed.

"Thank you for dropping it off. I gave this case to Dr. Simmons and he was supposed to submit it for filing last Friday," he says, tucking the folder under his desk. "Must have had one hell of a date to go to. I swear that man has a social life of a teenager."

He laughs indulgently at his own observation and fails to see the look of confusion that passes in the younger man's face.

"For filing?"

"Why, yes, Austen's going to be discharged this afternoon."

"Have you read the file?" He asks, shifting in his chair so that now, he is leaning forward, more engaged in the conversation.

"Well, I had to. I don't know how you do it at your department but everything here passes through me and then I farm out some of the cases to the new fellows. The ones I think they're capable of handling, of course," he replies, playfully winking at him.

Jack, however, is not in a playful mood. His eyebrows shoot up at his response, realizing that his job just got harder seeing that the department head himself has already cleared the case, albeit implicitly, by giving it to his fellow.

He recognizes he's treading on dangerous territories now, knowing fully well that office politics oftentimes take precedence over the actual practice of medicine. He recognizes, too, that he has in himself a streak of stubbornness that comes out at the most inopportune time. "Doesn't it seem a bit odd to you that the other symptoms are chronic?"

"Not really. You know how kids are. Their sense of balance can't be expected to be as well developed as that of an adult. We can only call it a symptom if we confirm it through protracted monitoring. That's why I'm personally keeping an eye on this one if another vertigo episode falls through," he explains casually, hands gesturing about in the air.

"Have you met the patient?" The lilt in his voice hints at frustration.

To which, the other man, fortunately or unfortunately, was fitfully oblivious. "Oh yes," his eyes lights up excitedly, "quite possibly the most adorable kid I would have the pleasure to meet in this lifetime."

The list of symptoms and behaviors of the patient he's expecting turns out to be a list which details the eye color to the size of the kid's feet. Jack just nods, his expression growing somber, seemingly accepting defeat. Oh well, it was just a hunch after all.

Making a move to stand, he begins, "I've already taken much of your time, Dr. Bailey…"

"Nonsense! It's good to have these chats once in a while. A bit of socializing here and there to get your mind off things." He launches to his feet and extends his hand to him.

"Yes, of course," he says, humorlessly.

He withdraws his hand, shelving them into his lab coat pockets. Just as he was about to turn and head for the door, the older man adds, "Oh, I know,…"

He stops and throws a side glance at him.

"…you should go and have a look at the patient before they leave the hospital. Who knows, the little firecracker might teach you a thing or two."

His immediate response is a smile, broad and earnest, all frustrations chucked out like yesterday's morning paper.

"You know what," he says, reaching for the door,

"I think I just might take your suggestion."

-----

The blonde woman is on the phone, arguing with the person on the other line. He suspects this because her face, which he speculates would otherwise be pleasant and rather carefree, is etched with aggression and perhaps other feelings he can't quite place. He finds this oddly entertaining, a pantomime of real life, and for a while, he watches contentedly.

He sees her snap the cell phone close, the conversation abruptly cut. Her eyes are intent on some vague point until they make contact with his. He stands transfixed, unable to react until a second too late.

The glass door slides to the left.

"There something I can help you with?" Her voice is sharp and cutting.

He's been told that staring is rude. If given the chance, he would like to clarify that it's not staring; it's observing.

Still, he flushes of bright pink. "Uh, yes, I…came to get the patient," he refers briefly to the file, "Jack…Austen, for an MRI screening."

His stuttering statement doesn't appear to register with her. So he tries again. "Dr. Bailey sent me. I'm Dr. Shephard."

"Is she alright?" Her demeanor softens, the concern in her voice unmistakable.

He, however, is stuck on one thing. "She?"

"Yes, my granddaughter, Jacqueline, is she alright?"

A slight chuckle involuntarily bubbles in him and even before it escapes his lips, his mind is already scrambling to apologize.

"I'm sorry. It's just that…," he fumbles for words to explain, "well, his, I mean, her patient file indicated Jack Austen…"

She eyes him with a suspicious look.

"and I was careless enough to gloss over the personal details." He adds a self-depreciating laugh, "So all the while I was under the assumption that…"

She's still giving him that look, with arms now crossed between her chest.

He decides it won't make any difference; he's always been awful at first impressions. "Anyway, yes, Jack…Jacqueline is fine."

She ignores his half-finished attempt for an apology and instead asks, "What's this test for then? She's already been put through a dozen of them. And we were told she could be discharged this afternoon."

"That's correct; Dr. Bailey has given her a clean bill of health. This test, however, will allow us to make sure it stays that way."

She seems to consider it and with a silent huff, she pushes the door sideways, as if to signal him to come in. Not the warm, or at least, polite welcome he'd expected but it'll have to do.

She made her way around the bed and gently sat on the edge. The shift in weight causes the sleeping form to stir, her eyes fluttering open.

Sweeping stray hair curls, the woman says, of faintest of whispers, "Hey, honey. How do you feel?"

"Hmmm."

"Someone's here to see you," she says, nodding to his direction.

"Who?," the little girl asks, while rubbing her eyes, "Is it Danny? He told me he'd come visit."

"Sorry, sweetheart. Danny has school, you know."

"'s okay. Maybe tomorrow." She makes a move to sit up. Seeing this, the woman helps her, propping her back with pillows.

He then finds himself scrutinized by a pair of curious, emerald eyes. A feeling of irrational insecurity comes to him, and he shuffles his feet, his hands digging deeper into his lab coat pockets.

"Uh, hi, Jacqueline. I'm Dr. Jack Shephard."

The kid wrinkles her nose, giggling, "You're funny."

"I am?," he replies, the look on his face nothing but quizzical.

"Yes, 'cause that's my name." She presses her palms to her chest protectively.

"No, your name's Jacqueline."

"Well, that too. I have two names," she explains with a tone that he could only assume as patronizing. "Momma calls me Jack. Jacqueline only when I'm in trouble."

That earns a laugh out of him and a knowing smile from the woman. Dr. Bailey was right; the kid has spunk. "Oh, is that right? She calls you Jacqueline often then?," he counters, as he steps closer to the bed, losing the initial feeling of awkwardness.

"Um, yeah," she says quietly, stealing a sheepish glance at her grandma.

"In that case, can I keep Jack? It's the only name I have."

"…I guess. But you have to call me Jacqueline so we won't be…mixing up."

"What you mean is…we won't be confused."

"No, I meant we won't be mixed up."

"Okay, okay," he extends his hand, "It's a deal then?"

"Uh-huh!" She neglects the proffered hand and instead nods vigorously in agreement.

"He's asking you to shake his hand, dear," her grandma prods her.

"Oh, I get it. I saw this once on TV." She grabs his hand with both of hers and starts shaking it heartily. "Does this mean that we're like partners now? The movie I watched had these two guys…"

The woman intervenes and, leaning closely to the child, says, "Jack, uh, maybe Dr. Shephard could listen to your story some other time? You have to go for another test, sweetie. That's why he's here."

"I guess…," she says, her face dimming noticeably, "if I have to."

Turning to him, the woman's demeanor grows suddenly serious. "Dr. Shephard, this test…will it take long?"

"Well,…," he prepared to roll up the usual answers.

But he's cut off with her continuing, "Because I really have to be somewhere else." She bits her lip, obviously unwilling to go. "But my daughter's going to be here soon. Can you, um, sit with Jack a while? Just until my daughter gets here, I mean. She'd want to come with her during the screening. She gets scared, you know."

"Of course," he nods in understanding.

"Thank you, Dr. Shephard. She'll be a good girl; won't you, honey?"

"Yeah, gramma. Always am," the little girl replies, pouting.

"Of course, you are," she says, while kissing her cheeks, and then facing the doctor, "I really appreciate this. I just really have to take care of…some things."

"Nothing to thank me for…"

"Diane Austen." She stands and reaches for her bag on the bedside table.

"And my daughter, the one who'll be arriving within a few minutes now, her name's Kate."


	3. Meet the Parent

3. Meet the Parent

Soon couldn't come sooner for both Jacks.

Since Diane had gone, the doctor had perched himself on the visitor's chair and the kid had not moved an inch in her bed. Both of them, with probing eyes, appear to be observing each other.

Eventually, he concedes in the staring contest. Pulling the blinds aside, he has now taken to looking out the window.

Don't get him wrong; he likes kids. If it weren't for his father's grand plans for him, he would have opted for pediatrics as his area. He liked them so much, in fact, that he wanted one. He remembers now how excited he had been when…

"Jack."

The squeaking voice pulls him out of his reverie.

"Yeah, Jacqueline?" He's not completely out of it yet as his eyes linger in the far distance.

"Is that fun?"

"What is?"

"You staring out the window…Is that fun?"

He smiles at that. "No, not really. It's…relaxing."

"Oh…"

Silence.

He was about to continue with his wallowing in self-pity and regret. But then he should have known that _that_ couldn't be the end of it.

"Well, what do you do for fun around here?," she asks, voice haughty and impatient.

Still not turning towards her, he says, hazy in thought, "Uh, I could…show you around."

She was up the bed and out the door before he could take it back.

-----

It took some warming up.

A bit of stretching.

And a whole lot of negotiation.

"I'm going to have to put you down for a while, okay?" He crouches in an isolated corner, away from the busy corridors of the registry department.

They've been to the pediatrics department, where she made friends with a boy named James; the ophthalmology department, to say hi to Dr. Bailey; and his office, to meet Rose who won the little girl with a chocolate-coated pretzel. Three long corridors and one flight of stairs after, his back is finally calling for a time-out.

"Yeah, okay," she acquiesces solemnly, her little arms unlocking from their tight grip around his shoulders.

He doesn't stand up and instead, turns around and grasps her by the shoulders, studying her. He sights in her face disappointment. "I haven't given anyone a piggyback ride for a long time," he explains, face contorting in mild pain, "and my back's not really used to it."

"We can go back to my room. You can rest there." The suggestion, though sincere, is lacking in conviction.

"No, just need to take a break," he says, "that's all."

"Good!" She jumps, joining her hands in a loud clap. "'Cause I'm hungry."

"Didn't you eat breakfast?"

"No. Meat is yuck." She sticks her tongue out for emphasis.

"Picky eater, huh? Your mom must have a grand time feeding you."

"Yeah, we always have a grand time," she just smiles good-naturedly, apparently unable to detect the sarcasm.

"To the cafeteria then," he says, bending his knees and bracing his back again for the added weight. And with a teasing smirk, he adds, "Just as long as you're buying, of course."

As if seriously considering his suggestion, she says, moving closer, "Okay. But do they take seashells? Got lots of 'em at home."

His response is a full-blown, hearty laughter. "C'mon kiddo," his laugh finally subsiding, "you can buy me lunch on your first pay. Deal?"

"Deal!" She takes hold of his shoulders again, readying for blast off.

He maneuvers his hand, snaking it around his neck and over his shoulders, just to extend it to hers. "Shake on it?," he says, alluding to their first meeting.

She obliges, placing her small hand in his, even as she breaks into a fit of giggles.

They enjoy the moment, content with their mutual silliness, until a faint shadow hovers over their crouched forms.

"Where do you think you're taking my daughter?"

-----

"Ah, would you like me to come along, Jack?"

"That's okay. I'm a big girl now. I can do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Uh-hum."

"Nurse Emma will help you in there, okay?"

"Actually, maybe it'd be better if I join her." He pipes up, only to be shot down by an odd look from the mother, which makes him all the more anxious at the prospect of being left alone with her. So far, his list of professional credentials has been spotless and he isn't too keen on adding kidnapping to it, however incidental the circumstances.

"No, stay with momma. She might get scared." Her thoughtfulness calms him for a moment but this newfound composure becomes short-lived.

"Come along now." The nurse tugs at the little tike's hand as she leads her into the screening room.

Alarm bells go off in his head. I could excuse myself; tell her another patient is waiting. Or, just take my lunch break. Damn it, what use is the PA system when you need it? He scolds himself. _You're a grown man, for Christ's sake_. He sneaks a peek at the woman out of the corner of his eyes, and sees her waving to the kid, now at the other side of the glass sliding door. The little girl manages a nervous smile. It makes her seem all the more brave.

Seeing this exchange pacifies his worries; this is not about him but the little girl. Besides, she's not even saying anything about the incident. So he remains standing beside the woman at a reserved distance, keeping to himself.

They watch the nurse help Jack undress and put on her a hospital gown. The kid squirms, instantly missing the Barney shirt and pants she wore that morning for discharge, but she doesn't make too much of a fuss. She's made to lie down on the MRI machine, while the nurse spouts off reminders, to which she only nods. The machine rumbles to life, the part on which she lay moving inward the tunnel-like contraption. Jack disappears out of sight with only her lower extremities visible.

"So a spinal surgeon, huh?"

The question is unexpected, rendering him momentarily dumbfounded, only managing to say a mumbled, "Ah, yes."

"Should I be worried then?"

He blinks.

"No, don't answer that." She shakes her head slightly from side to side, arms crossed over her chest. "I already am."

Finally, he gets his tongue to work. "Mrs. Austen, as I've…"

"That's Ms. Austen."

"…Ms. Austen, as I've explained, this test is just a precaution. Except the vertigo episode, your daughter has shown no other symptoms that…"

"And exactly what symptoms are you looking for?" Her voice takes on a noticeably higher pitch.

"The results I got from the Ophthalmology department are inconclusive and…"

"Why don't you just ditch the medical jargon and tell me what my child has in plain, simple English?" She's facing him now full-on, with chin up and arms uncrossed. He readies himself for an all-out offensive of verbal and possibly, physical abuse. On a lighter note, at least now he knows where the kid gets her spunk.

"If I could be allowed to finish what I'm saying, I already would have," he says with that tone he has carefully practiced when dealing with concerned and agitated parents – a heaping of civility with assertiveness as side-dish. Unknown to her, his fingers are fidgeting inside his lab coat pockets.

What should happen, as it usually is with other parents, is that she'd be shamed to silence. But somehow, he knew she wasn't like any other parents.

"Well, I'm waiting," she retorts, still not losing the edge in her voice.

"Your child suffered a vertigo episode. But her balance-related problems started long before the incident and not only that, they have persisted. Her personal record says she hasn't taken any medication prior to this, save for vitamins and the like. Also, you've moved around a couple of times in recent years. That crosses out external factors, since any external factors giving rise to such problems should have already been eliminated by virtue of the change in environment. That leaves us to deal with internal factors."

He inhales deeply, like he had been holding a breath too long. Still, she doesn't interrupt. "Now, balance is a very sensitive and interdependent issue. Balance disorders are often just symptoms to underlying problems. In effect, they could mean a myriad of things from simple ear deformity, to a readily treatable infection,…"

His eyes shift, breaking contact with hers. "…to cancer."

Turning away from him, she bites her lip and again, crosses her arms about her, now going into defensive mode.

"And this MRI will help, how?"

"I'm sure we'll both agree that we have to cancel out the most life-threatening," he proceeds candidly but sparingly.

She only nods, slightly and slowly.

"If this test comes out clean, then you can breathe a little easier."

She closes her eyes, sighing audibly. It takes her a moment to speak again, "God, I can't even begin to believe this is happening, you know."

She glances briefly at him, expression unguarded, "Just last week, she was begging me to let her join this little league soccer at her school. She was always a bit on the clumsy side and I was afraid she might get disappointed when she doesn't get picked to play. So I just told her we'll see. But she was so persuasive, you know. With eyes and a smile like that, who could really say no, right? She lets out a thoughtful and honest laugh, which makes the doctor smile.

"So I let her. Did you know she jumped up and down her bed for a good 10 minutes?" she shakes her head, basking in the memory, "I had to tackle her just to make her stop."

"Her game was slotted on a Tuesday. I skipped work and found myself screaming my lungs out, rooting for her at the stands. She was called in to the play near the end. The bigger girls had monopoly of the game so for the most part, she played defense. But when she caught a stray ball, you should have seen her. She was running that ball up the field like a natural, I tell you. By that time, I was already up and by the sidelines to cheer her on."

"That's why I got to her first when the vertigo hit," she says, the smile in her voice and face turning faint, "And here I am now, discussing with you the possibility that my six year old baby has cancer."

The twist in the story catches him mentally unprepared. Usually, he is adept at these things; his decade-long career has made him learn certain techniques in pain and grief management.

However, having had to deal with his own pain has left him incapable or at least, reluctant, to dabble in others'. He has learned that you can't really share in their pain without dispensing yours in the process. And that's what he's deathly afraid of. Standing beside this woman, a little more than a stranger, he recognizes that this might be the closest he'll ever get to admitting that.

In the absence of sympathy, all he can manage is civility and candor.

"You can't dwell on negativity, Kate."

She turns to him, surprised, at the mention of her first name.

He keeps his voice as neutral as he can, careful not to tread on his own fresh wounds. "You have to focus on her getting better and getting her out of this place. This might be a fluke or the real thing. Either way, you have to be strong. Don't ever let her think otherwise."

"I guess I should listen to you, huh?," she says. He can't help but feel she's offering a truce, "You've obviously had a lot of experience in these things."

He purses his lips into a tight smile.

"More than I would have liked to."


	4. A Deal's a Deal

4. A Deal's a Deal

She rounds the corner in brisk strides, hoping to beat the line at the cafeteria. Just for a quick lunch, nothing heavy, just something to tide her over before she scurries off to another medical conference, thankfully, the last for the month. She is rummaging through her bag in search of her wallet when she bumps into something.

Something white, and firm, muscular even.

"Oww, damnit," the invective is out of her mouth before she can check it. But she makes quick amends, apologizing for the incident. For the moment though, all she sees is a wall of broad shoulders over white overalls.

"That's okay. Nothing broken here." The object of collision speaks and half-turns to look at her.

She almost couldn't place the voice, but she'd recognize that pair of deep, brown eyes anywhere.

"Jack? Dr. Jack Shepherd?"

"Juliet?"

--

Two thumb-wrestling games after, the little ball of energy is looking like she needs a recharge. She's hunched over, her arms resting on the table, chin on top of folded hands and a dejected pout on her lips.

"Hey honey, what do you say we get out of here, eh?," Kate whispers, almost conspiratorially, as she lowers her head until it is leveled with hers. "I bet you haven't seen the fish in the garden pond yet."

"I'm hungry, and he said he'd treat me to lunch. We even shaked on it!," she straightens up on the chair, and crosses her arms against her chest.

"Honey, it's shook."

"Well, okay, we shooked on it."

"Nevermind." She laughs amused, pinching the kid's nose gently.

In truth, they've only spent a couple of minutes waiting. But she can tell that she's already getting antsy. She knows this, because she's exactly the same way.

And so, she steals a glance at the doctor, who is four tables away by the counter, still waiting for his turn at the cashier. She was about to turn to her daughter again but not before a blonde woman catches her attention.

She's a witness to the harmless incident; the woman, preoccupied with her bag, heads straight into his back, the collision causing her to fall a few steps. But when she looks up and says something, probably an apology, her face registers what could only be considered recognition. Her eyes narrow at the sight. She observes them a while, trying to pick up nonverbal clues as to who and what the woman is to Shepherd. They looked relaxed, talking animatedly, like old friends catching up on things they have missed since they last saw each other.

She isn't one to care, really, but Jack's laughter, carefree and genuine, so unlike his somber demeanor, gets her curious.

"What's the matter, Momma?"

"Nothing. How 'bout I go and see what's keeping your lunch? Maybe even tell Jack to get you ice cream, yeah?"

"Yeah, tell him to get me ice cream and then I won't be mad at him 'nymore."

"That's my girl."

--

"...Sarah and I had a grand time ahem commenting on your cooking. Which reminds me, you still owe me for letting you use me as a personal guinea pig for your culinary frustrations."

"How 'bout I cook you pasta sometime. Then you'll see how much I've improved."

"Sure thing; I can afford insurance now."

"Oh, you're saying that now, but wait til you've tasted…"

"Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Shepherd." So they are old friends, she concludes, as she mulls over the tail end of the conversation she's just overheard.

He stumbles in the introductions, caught surprised by her sudden presence, "Kate…I mean, Ms. Kate Austen. This is Dr. Juliet Burke. She was a classmate of mine in med school and apparently, my new colleague."

He's retreated to his formalities, the humor and lightness in his voice that she heard awhile ago dissipating into the air. She studies him a moment before facing the woman.

"Glad to make your acquaintance," Kate takes the outstretched hand and gives it a curt shake, "Although, of course, I would rather that we met in different circumstances altogether."

"Yeah, I would have liked that, too." The woman's eyes are trained on hers when she says this, which makes her words seem nothing but earnest. Kate mirrors her honesty with a smile, and is relieved to find that the gesture gives her a reason to like her. Not that she has any reason _not_ to.

"Anyway," she withdraws her hand and breaks eye contact from Dr. Burke. She could very well drag this conversation on until she's satisfied her curiosity, but she has a hungry kid waiting, "I've come to deliver a special request from your patient: ice cream." She's not entirely sure what possesses her to do so, but she beams him a smile, which only the most perceptive of bystander could interpret as flirtatious. She's been out of practice, though, having gone without any man since Jacqueline was born, so she's pretty sure no one, especially him, would notice the mistake.

"No problem. They have those fruit-flavored kinds here. What does she like? Strawberry? Mango?" He certainly doesn't show any hint that he had.

"As long as its ice cream."

For a moment, the two women are left to themselves as he ventures into the ice cream section, sliding the fridge door open and allowing the mist of frost to escape. "This kid of yours must be really something," Dr. Burke says to her. He's too busy searching through the pile of ice cream pints to overhear, let alone react. "She's got Jack whipped, that's for sure."

She just smiles in response, not sure how to take the comment, but feeling the heat of a blush spreading in her face all the same. She looks to her daughter then, her small frame leaning over the table at the corner of the room, head still resting on her folded arms.

"That her?," the woman doctor asks, following Kate's gaze.

"Yeah, that's her."

"She's gonna be alright, you know."

There is a silent conviction in the woman's voice that she wants to share.

"I don't know what she has, but I know Jack. And he will do everything he can to make sure that she gets well."

Just as her words begin to sink in, just as she was beginning to take comfort in them and feel gratitude for meeting this woman, he emerges from the fridge with a small container in hand, and a sheen of condensed water on his forehead, saying, with an almost playful tone, "Mango, it is then."

The line moves, making it Jack's turn at the cashier, but Dr. Burke overtakes him and hands over her food order to the cashier personnel.

"I've gotta run, you two. Have a conference to get to, for which I am actually already late."

"Conference?"

"Yep, I'll tell you all about it over that pasta you promised." She whizzes past him, but goes to him just as quickly, standing on her toes to give him peck on the cheek.

"I'll hold you to that," he calls out after her.

"Yeah, yeah," she says, hands waving dismissively at him.

"I'll see you around, Kate," she holds out her hand to her. And Kate takes it, giving her hand a squeeze.

--

"Momma,…"

"Nuh-uh. No talking while chewing."

He's smiling about nothing in particular. Well, she certainly doesn't see any reason for him to smile, especially that kind of mega-watt smile. If she didn't find his smile as nearly as pleasant as it was, she would have done anything to wipe that smile of his face. Good thing the guy has decent, well, okay, more-than-decent genes.

"So…," he finally finds his tongue, "what do you do?"

"I work as a librarian in a library, I mean the local public library" she says, trying to sound nonchalant about it. Where else will a librarian work, Kate? Is there a duh written in bold letters on your forehead? She makes brief eye contact, then keeps her eyes nailed at the bottom of her chocolate drink, as she sips through the straw.

"She knows lotcha books, Momma doesh," the kid pipes up.

"Jacqueline. What did I say about talking while chewing?"

"No twalking, while tsoo-wing."

"Exactly. And what are you doing right now?"

The kid apparently gets it this time, since she keeps silent, picking at her food.

A chuckle, that seems to originate deep in his chest, bubbles involuntarily from him.

"Well, a librarian, huh? That's...interesting."

"Are you mocking me? Coz there really is nothing like rows and rows of 5-inch thick books to get me all riled up."

"Absolutely not. What I mean is I find it interesting that you…"

She stares at him, daring him to continue.

He looks down on his own drink, probably feeling the tension in her gaze. "Well, let's just say...that I would never have pegged you..., you know...for a librarian.

He's still not returning the eye contact, swirling and playing around with the straw instead. "It's a bit hard to imagine you cooped up in desk. I just figured she takes after you," he tilts his head, motioning towards Jacqueline. "All that boundless energy, you know." He punctuates his meandering explanation with a smile that she could only describe as shy.

"Oh I do explore. In my head. It's more cost-efficient. Plus, the variety you'll get from imagination is practically endless," she says, backing down a bit. "I write, too. In my spare time. Or however short the time I get in between cleaning after her and figuring out which smart aleck has his book overdue. I want to get published. What am I saying, everyone wants to get published nowadays."

When she finishes her explanation, he's looking at her with an odd expression she can't quite place. Like she's grown another head or something. She decides to ignore it. Anyway, if all goes according to plan, and she knows it will, she won't be seeing him ever again.

"So…, she breathes, almost like a sigh, "what about you?"

"Er, I'm a spinal surgeon."

"You're hilarious, you know that?"

"So, I've been told."

"Dja have kidsh like me?"

"Are you finished eating, Jack?"

"Not yet. But Momma, I'm not chewing."

He can't help but laugh aloud at that. To his surprise, Kate's laughing along as well.

"She got you there, Momma," he comments, not really thinking clearly, caught in the humor of the moment. Kate doesn't take offense, though, and just kisses Jacqueline on the top of her head.

"And to answer your question, no, I don't have any kids."

He pauses, not really feeling any need to elaborate. But both of them don't react, as if waiting, waiting for him to...

"I would really like to have some someday, though. But that's close to impossible with the way things are going. I work on Saturdays. I'm on call during Sundays. It's a bit hard to find the time to be anything more than what I am now. So I'll stick with the spinal surgeon description."

"Ah, workaholic? Figured that much out. You're lucky the missus doesn't walk out on you for all that overtime," she gives him a knowing look. Did she just ask if he was single? No, that can't be, because why on earth would she be interested in asking that?

"So, I guess I'm lucky that I don't have one. It saves me lawyer fees from her walking out on me."

"Seriously?" Oh boy, why indeed?

"You do know that the chicks-dig-doctors theory has been debunked long ago, don't you?

"In what universe, pray tell, Dr. Shepherd?"

"Apparently, only in mine." He laughs it off, cheeks heating up. What do they mix in with chocolate drinks these days?

"I do have to concede that the chicks-dig-doctors theory has an anomaly. There is always a fine line between a workaholic and a total nerd, Dr. Shepherd. So your problems might not be imagined as the case may be."

"Ah, well, you're one to talk, Ms. Librarian."

"Touche."

"Twooo-shay."

"Jacqueline."

--

A/N: anything doctor-related info is just me guessing. as of this moment, i cannot be bothered with research. : P should i continue writing this? yes, the ever-pestering question.


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